Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice
by Lady-Pleasure
Summary: A fic request on DMF I did a while back. Micky has a secret. Mike knows what it is. (Slash) Present Day w/ flashbacks. Genre: Good question -Is 'bizarre' a genre? Disclaimer: Fictional -obviously. I don't own the Monkees -of course. No animals were harmed in the making of this fic… although Dale was probably emotionally traumatized. Warning: Sex, cross dressing & weirdness


A/N- Alright, I'm going to apologize in advance for this one guys. This has to be the weirdest, most twisted thing I have _ever_ written.  
This is an older fic I did that was based on the following fic request submitted to DMF on Tumblr:

"I have a Dolenzmith plot bunny if anyone is interested in a fic. Warning: old people sex. Micky has a secret. He sometimes dresses in women's clothes and enjoys the feel of it against his skin. When he does this, he gets turned on by the thought of sucking big dick. Mike knows his secret. Last year before they toured, Micky stayed with Mike for a month teaching him his own songs. Mike left some pretty things in Micky's room. Hilarity and sucking ensued. -(The dog was not amused.)"

...Hope you enjoy?

* * *

Micky has a deep…_dark…secret!_

…_uh… wait…  
_actually that's not true.

He has a _secret._

It is _just_ a secret.  
_(-Come on guys, it's not like he's a serial killer or something.)_

It isn't deep and it isn't dark.  
No.  
His secret is more frilly and lacy with lots of satin and silk.

_(Hmmm_. _Satin and silk…_  
The fabric of the gods.)

So maybe his secret is that he always wanted to be a fashion designer?

Or ,maybe he's a master weaver. A threadsman!  
Maybe he weaves under the cover of darkness and takes on a secret identity and wears satin masks and silk capes!

(… not buying it huh?  
No. I probably wouldn't either if I were you.)

Besides you guys probably know where this is going. You probably read the summary.

Micky is a cross dresser. Has been for years.

"So tell me Micky…" He imagines someone interviewing him about it. "When did you first find out you were a cross dresser?"

"Oh well," He grows introspective as he thinks about how to answer his imaginary interviewer. "I think I first realized it when I was a boy. You see I had my own television series. Lots of costumes, lots of props. I'd go into the dressing room and try on all the leading ladies clothes. See I had my_ own_ television series. I rode around on an elephant all day and I-"

(-_Okay_… we've all heard this right? We know his story. We know all about _Circus Boy_.  
If we don't, we should.  
If we don't, it's time to learn. -And no, I'm not going to teach you. It would take too long and this is supposed to be a _short_ story.)

"So anyway, Micky, how has cross dressing changed your life?"

"Oh… that's a tough one." Micky again grows introspective. He's not really sure.  
It's always been a part of him. All the way back when he was in _Circus Boy_. See he had this television series and he rode around on an elephant all day and he-

(-_Wait, we've already covered this haven't we?)_

Anyway the point is that women's clothing has always been a big part of his life so he doesn't know how they have changed him because…  
_well_…  
because how can something change you when it's always been that way?

_Good point Micky._

-Okay, on with the interview.

"So Micky, what kinds of things do you like to wear?"

"Oh, now this I can answer. I like wearing dresses and skirts and negligees and scarves and hats and anything lacy or silky or shear. Pretty things you know? I love it all. _-Except for women's shoes_. That's _too _weird. _Way too weird. _I could never get into those. Not ever. I mean what kind of _man_ wears _women's_ shoes? That's just wrong. It goes against my principals."

(-_Okay… ?_ So maybe he's a cross dresser but he's still got standards dammit! And morals too! Who's gonna judge?)

Micky continues his mental interview going over things like his first experience in a dress, which wife had the best clothes to pick from, what his favorite garment is and if anyone knows that he cross dresses.

The last question makes him uneasy. "Now wait a minute." He tells the imaginary interviewer. "This isn't going to print is it? No one can know about this. It's a secret."

"Well why are you even imagining this interview then?"

"Hm" Micky ponders. "That's a good question."

—-

Enter Mike.

Mike has a deep _dark_ secret.

_(-Oh stop being so dramatic_. His secret isn't deep and dark either.)

His secret is that he _knows_ a secret.

Micky's secret.

He's known it for years.

Of course Micky doesn't know he knows.

And Mike doesn't want Micky to know he knows.

So how did Mike find out?

Well let's see…

…

(Flash back to 1967)

We are on the set of _The Monkees. _They just got done shooting an episode… what was the name of it?  
It has Micky in drag at some party trying to distract a General while Davy consorts with his daughter. What was the name of that one again?

(We all know that the episode Mike is trying to remember is called _The Chaperone_, right?  
…_Okay, good_.)

Well, whatever it was called, it's late and it's time to go home. Mike walks to Micky's dressing room, hoping to share a joint before hitting the road.

(Just for the record kids, drugs are bad kids. Don't smoke weed like _The Monkees _did.)

Anyway… so Mike's about to knock on the door when he hears Micky inside.  
He's cooing.

_Cooing?_

Yes, cooing. That's the only word for it.

It sounds like he's talking to a tiny kitten… or a puppy, maybe a baby?

"Oh…who's so pretty?" He coos it up. "Who's a _pretty_ girl?" Maybe he's talking to a parakeet?

Mike opens the door a crack.

And what does he see?

(…_Well, any ideas?)_

Okay fine I'll tell you-  
He sees Micky looking in the mirror at himself. He's still dressed in that stuffy, satiny, purplish-maroon dress.  
He's looking adoringly at his own reflection.  
Then he suddenly twirls around, trying to get his skirt to flow around him. He eyes himself again and gives the mirror a smacking kiss.

_Hm._ Mike thinks. _That's kind of weird._  
But then again, Micky's a weird guy.

Mike leaves. He doesn't need to smoke with Micky. Clearly Micky is busy.

…

(Flash back to present)

Oh yes, Micky _was_ a weird guy. _IS_ a weird guy.

Mike knows that… and more.  
You see what I've told you so far is only the tip of the iceberg.

Micky has another secret.

Mike knows this as well.

…

(Flash back again-only this time to 1969)

We are now at Micky and Sammy's home in the hills. Sammy is away, visiting family in Manchester.

(Sounds like a setup doesn't it? …Wife's away, Micky's got the house to himself.  
And the way I led into the scene probably makes you go "Oh god, what kind of mischief are these crazy kids going to get into now?")

Well, we shall see. -Read on.

See Micky has a thing for popsicles.  
They really appeal to him.  
But they appeal to him the most when he's wearing one of Sammy's teddies.  
Don't get me wrong, he also likes to wear her dresses and night gowns…  
_But_, there is something about wearing a tight silk teddy. The way it clings to his chest and stomach. The lace, the frills.  
He rummages through her lingerie drawer and pulls out some light pink panties to match.  
He wiggles into them and walks to the full length mirror in the bedroom.

He admires himself. He feels like a princess. A _sexy _princess.  
He licks his lips and wiggles his butt, watching his hips sway side to side.

Then he stands back. Something is missing.  
Of course he knows what it is.

He walks down the stairs to the kitchen and opens the freezer door. He pulls out his newly bought box of orange flavored Rocketpops.

He opens it and pulls one out of the box. He caresses it softly. Then he gracefully makes his way back up the stairs to the bedroom and full length mirror.

When he's in front of the mirror again he tenderly pulls the wrapper off the Rocketpop and whispers sweet nothings into its ear.

(I know, popsicles don't have ears but let's play along anyway… _for Micky's sake_.)

So after he gets the Rocketpop in the mood he licks slowly up its side, letting the sticky fruit juice drip onto his chin and fingers.  
He takes it into his mouth and deep throats it.  
He's done this many times before. He knows how to give popsicles good head. The best head of their lives.  
He watches himself in the mirror as he glides the popsicle down his throat.

But it's so unsatisfying because just when he's starting to get really hot the popsicle begins to get hot too.  
And it melts.

But that's just the nature of a popsicle isn't it? They melt. They become smaller. They have no stamina whatsoever.

Fucking popsicles.

He walks back down the stairs and tosses the shrinking popsicle in the sink. He goes back to the freezer for another.

He repeats the whole process…_ three times_, strutting up and down the stairs, licking and sucking to his heart's content.

By the time his fourth popsicle begins melting, he's very horny.

So when he goes back down the stairs for his fifth, he's impatient and tears the wrapper off hastily, _passionately._

He wastes no time getting in his mouth.

He stumbles over to a divan in the living room. He's too worked up and there's no time to go back upstairs. Beside he knows what he looks like. He doesn't need a full length mirror to tell him what a sexy vixen he is.

As he goes to town on his fifth popsicle he also goes to town on himself.

(You know what I mean.  
… and if you don't, I can't help you there.)

—-

Enter Mike_… Well, actually he entered 30 minutes ago_. Not literally though. He's not actually _in_ the house.

Mike is standing outside on the back porch.

He's been standing there for a while.  
He's feeling quite perplexed.

In hindsight, Mike wonders if he should have used the front door instead.  
But he never uses the front door. He doesn't like front doors. They are too typical. For typical people.  
(And besides, we need him at the back door so he can witness Micky's princess prancing and popsicle love. It's the only way to keep the story going.)

So Mike is on the back porch, looking into the house through the oversized full pane French doors.  
He's fully aware of his Peeping Tom status.

_Hm._ He thinks. _That sure is weird.  
_But then again, Micky is a weird guy.

Mike feels like he should probably leave. Micky is clearly busy.  
But for some reason he doesn't.

Mike is the type who likes to understand the world around him.  
And right now he can't make heads, tails of popsicles out of it.

Mike tilts his head to the side, and studies Micky as Micky uses a very fancy tongue maneuver on his defenseless popsicle.

_Wow. That's kinda neat._ Mike thinks.

So he decides to stay and watch the whole show.

When Micky is finished, Mike watches him kiss his soggy popsicle and discard it in the sink with the others.  
Then he goes back up the stairs.

Mike waits a few minutes and then knocks.

After a bit Micky comes back down dressed in his regular civilian clothes.

They spend the evening together, playing records and smoking pot… er…um, I mean tobacco _-nothing. _They don't smoke anything. (Drugs are bad. So are cigarettes.)

…

Flash back to present.

I suppose I should have told you why Micky and Mike are musing about the past the way they are.

See, Micky is at Mike's house. He's been staying there the last couple weeks.

It's kind of a weird thing to do, since he has his own home only? Minutes/hours away. (I was too lazy to look up the actual distance but they live relatively close, okay.)

They've been burning the candle at both ends trying to prepare for their upcoming tour.

(Yes, they are going on tour! Isn't that exciting?)

So Micky is at Mike's house teaching him some songs…  
-Or maybe Mike's teaching Micky?

(But that's a detail that doesn't really matter. What matters is that he's at Mike's house because he needs to be in order for the story to get even more interesting/twisted/demented weird/fucked up.)

So Micky's at Mike's house. It's late and he's sitting on a dressing chair in Mike's guest bedroom. He's eating a popsicle. Its blue flavored although he's not sure what flavor blue is. It's just blue.

He finds it odd that Mike's freezer is suddenly filled with an assortment of popsicles. All different shapes and sizes and flavors.  
But what he finds even more odd is that Mike's guestroom's closet (the room he's staying in)is suddenly filled with pretty things. Lots of pretty things. The pretty things most likely belong to Mike's wife/ex-wife, Victoria.

Why the pretty things have suddenly migrated to this particular closet… he's not entirely sure.  
But he shouldn't question a gift, should he?  
Clearly the stars have aligned tonight in Micky's favor. Popsicles and pretty things. What more could he ask for?

Of course, he's a little wary about it since he's not in the privacy of his home but …what the hell.

He gets up and goes to the closet.

He rummages through, pulling out garment after garment.  
There's so much to pick from.

Purple and green and blue and black and red.  
Skirts and dresses and silky blouses.  
halter straps, spaghetti straps, no straps at all!  
There's hats and scarves and panty hose and lingerie.  
It's so overwhelming.

As he looks down at the pretty things he's scattered on the floor he spies a very formal looking Azul cocktail dress that has a peacock printed inlay. It's absolutely _divine_. One of the most beautiful things he's ever see. It even has little blue sequins stitched into the pattern.

He quickly strips naked and squeezes into it. It's a tight squeeze. He's not a scrawny boy anymore. Not by any means and he can't zip the back up all the way. So he leaves it open. Who needs to see the back anyways?

Not Micky.

But what he does need are some accessories.

So he goes back to the pile of clothes on the floor.

He finds a floppy turquoise hat, some black satin gloves and a fire red garter set-panties, belt, straps and all.

The garter set excites him. He's worn them before but it's been a while. And he's _never_ worn _red!_

He opts out of the panties. It's too weird to wear Mike's wife/ex wife's underwear.  
Besides aren't garter belts sexier when there's nothing underneath?

(Anybody getting visual here?)

As he pulls on the red thigh highs, he notices how smooth they make his legs look.

(Granted there are stray leg hairs sticking out here and there but we'll pretend we don't see them, okay?)

Once he has his whole ensemble on, he goes to a full length mirror that is conveniently in his room for the purposes of this story.

And he's in love. It's the most beautiful site he's ever seen.

He studies himself from head to toe. From his turquoise hat to his fire red stockings.

And yes the turquoise and red don't quite go together but he likes the contrast.

"Oh what a pretty thing." He coos.

"Who me?" He asks the mirror innocently.

"Yes you, you're the only one here ,you _dirty_ girl"

Micky sighs contently. He twirls around and struts and prances around the room, keeping his eyes on the mirror.

He feels incredibly sexy.

There's only one thing missing.

He looks at the popsicle stick on his nightstand. It used to belong to the blue popsicle he just ate.

He feels regret. He really should have saved it. He longs for another.

He eyes the door.

_No._ He thinks. I _can't go out there to get another popsicle. What if Mike's still awake?_

He looks at the clock on his nightstand_. Hm._ It's a little after 10 pm.

He looks at the door again.

The thing is that old folks go to bed early. Micky's been staying here a couple weeks and usually Mike turns in around 9.

Micky usually turns in around 11. He's always been night owl.

He goes to the door and cups his ear against it. Nothing.

_Hm._ Well, as long as he make his voyage to the fridge quick…

He dashes out of the room as only a man in his late 60's can dash in a dress. He runs along the short hallway that opens up into the living room and makes his way across to the kitchen. He pulls the freezer door opened frantically and scoops up an armful of popsicles.  
Rocketpops- his favorite.  
As he turns to leave he trips over Dale.

His armful of popsicles go flying and he lands on his stomach.

Dale begins barking and growling with enthusiasm.

"Shhhh." Micky tries to quiet Dale as he pats down his body to make sure he has broken any fragile bones.

Dale's growls deepen.

Micky sits up and reaches for Dale. "Come on girl, it's just me."

Dale stops barking for a moment, seeming to recognize Micky's voice but then as she eyes Micky, her barks begin again.

"What's your problem Dale?' Micky says as he stands up.

"I don't know Micky. You're in a dress. I don't recognize you." Dale says.

_(-Wait… hold up_. I don't want to confuse you guys. Dale's not _really_ talking here. She's a dog. She doesn't talk. If she did that would be really creepy but also pretty amazing and wonderful. But that's just not the case. She's not talking. Micky is just imagining her response.)

Dale continues barking.

Micky hastily tries to scoop up all the popsicles he's dropped as Dale nips at his feet.

He's reaching for the last 2 when the kitchen light turns on.

_Oh shit._

Micky freezes as if he's in the middle of a game of 'Red Light Green Light'.

(Anyone remember that game?)

He stays bent over until his hip gives out and he crashed to the floor.

"Micky?"

Micky decides that even though he's been spotted, if he's quiet and still enough maybe Mike will think it was just his imagination and go back to bed.

Mike walks around him and bends down. "Micky are you okay?"

Eventually Micky looks up. "Hey Mike."

"Hey Mick. You didn't hurt yourself did you?"

"I'm fine." Micky says and slowly gets up. He keeps his eyes down as he faces Mike. "I was just getting a few popsicles. I really like them."

Dale begins growling again.

"Dale!" Mike reprimands his dog. "That's no way to treat Micky."

Dale's tail drops between her legs and she whines as she scoots back into the living room and lies down on her dog bed.

Micky stoops and picks up the remaining popsicles.

—-

Enter Mike… (even though he's already in the scene. But we are going to go into his head for a second.)

So Mike has another secret. Just like Micky had another secret. And just the way Micky's original secret was only the tip of the iceberg, we haven't even begun to scratch the surface with Mike.  
So let's scratch, okay?

Okay… so like I said, Mike has another secret… a _few_ maybe, if we really break it down.

His first additional secret is that the story I told earlier about him watching Micky making love to his popsicle at his house in the hills wasn't an isolated incident. Not by far.  
See Mike made a mental note that night. He made a mental note to check out Micky's pad anytime Sam was away.

('Why would he do that?' You might ask.

Well, we'll get to that in just a second. But for now, keep reading.)

So anytime Sammy was gone, Mike went over to Micky's house.

He hung out on the porch and waited in the shadows. Very creepy and Mike is certainly aware of his creepiness. Sometimes he saw Micky. Sometimes he didn't. But he saw him enough to realize there was indeed a pattern between (a) Micky having the house to himself, and (b) Micky dressing in women's clothes.

_A very weird guy indeed._ But what you all aren't aware of yet is that Mike's a weird guy himself.

-On to Mike's second additional secret.

So Mike spied on Micky all the time. Then Micky moved to England and Mike didn't spy on him.

Then Micky moved back and Mike spied on him.

Then Mike moved to New Mexico and he didn't spy on him.

Then Mike moved back and he spied him again.

(So you see, Mike has a history of spying on Micky and seeing him dance and prance in drag.)

Some things never changed…except wives maybe.  
Instead of Micky dressing in women's clothes every time Sammy went away, he'd dress in women's clothes every time Trina went away… and then it wasn't Trina. It was Donna.

But the women don't matter. It was never about them. It's always been about the clothes.  
That's what matters.

The clothes and the way the clothes make Mike feel when they are on Micky.

That's Mike's second secret.

(He doesn't want anyone to know about it so let's keep it between us, okay)

Mike has a very small infatuation with Micky.

Actually it's not that small. It's not small at all. Actually it's pretty _goddamn_ big. But he doesn't like to think of it that way. He likes to think of things on a _grand_ scale.

So even if his infatuation with Micky causes him to lose sleep at night, even if it causes him to lose focus in his daily activities and responsibilities. Even if it causes him to lose interest in the women in his life, in the scheme of things (_the scheme of things implies the entire universe in this case_), it's not _that_ big.

-It's not going to cause a war or a plague or any planets to collide- _he doesn't think._  
…so it's not a big deal.  
Not a big deal at all.

Now on to his third additional secret.

See Mike's getting ahead in his years. Sure he can still get it up without the help of Viagra but it probably won't be long before he starts to lose some of the functionalities most of us take for granted.

(I realize that most of us – myself and many of you readers out there are probably of the female persuasion and therefore don't know what it's like to 'get it up'. We don't have dicks.  
But have a heart, okay.  
It's gotta be rough to be worrying about your loss of libido, especially if you are a man.)

But Mike is the _face _of testosterone. He's as manly as he ever was. And if anyone ever questions his manliness it's important to point out that out of the fifteen children the Monkees had, Mike had three of the four boys.

But age can change a person. It can make them think about their life. It can make them think about what they've done with it and what they still have left to do.  
That's where Mike's bucket list comes in.

It's not a long list. After all, he's lived a pretty interesting life.

But there are still 4 things left on it.

1. Travel to the planet moon, Pluto.

2. Create a computer program that will allow him to transfer his and Dale's consciousness into a single being.

3. Meet a mythological Griffin. (Part bird, part lion. They're pretty cool- look 'em up)

4. Make it with Micky

He's not quite sure how to go about the first 3 –although he's definitely working on it.

But the fourth… well, an opportunity presented itself didn't it?

So while Micky is picking up his popsicles, Mike is grinning.

Because here Micky is, at Mike's _house_, wearing the pretty clothes that Mike _planted_ in Micky's closet, stooping down on all fours to pick up the _popsicles_ that Mike put in his freezer.

Mike knew Micky couldn't resist.

He just thought it would take little longer, seeing that he only put his plan into effect earlier this evening.

But who's going to question a gift?

Clearly the stars are aligned in Mike's favor.  
Micky in a sexy dress on all fours in front of him.  
Who could ask for more?

Not Mike

Eventually Micky stands up in front of him, arms full of melting popsicles.

Micky looks at him. His expression is partially apologetic and partially challenging.  
It's almost like he dares Mike to make a comment on his choice of clothing.

Which Mike does.  
"Well Micky… Don't you look pretty."

Micky's challenging look vanishes and is replaced with a shy smile. "Really, you think I look pretty, Mike?"

"Oh yes, I think the azul sequins really bring out the pupils of your eyes."

"Aww, Mike" Micky blushes. "I didn't think you'd notice."

"How could I not?" Mike whispers in a low and sexy, porn star type of voice.  
Then he begins coughing and hacking from the strain the low pitch put on his vocal cords.

Micky drops his armful of popsicle on the counter and pats Mike's back.

Mike regains his composure and steps towards Micky.

"And those red tights…Victoria never looked so good in them."

Micky smiles slyly and hikes up his dress a bit.  
"I also have on her garter straps, Mike."

Mike looks down. "So you do."

Micky tucks his fingers inside the straps.  
You know there's more too but I probably shouldn't show you…"

Mike looks up at Micky. Micky is looking at him with a coy smile.

Mike smiles back. "No. You shouldn't show me. Then he reaches out with both arms and grips Micky's hips. "Maybe you should let me find out for myself."

Micky's eyes grow wide. "_Really?_ I didn't think you'd be into me Mike."

Mike chuckles. "Well, Mick, that's what you get for thinking."

Micky smiles big. "Oh Mike… in that case can I please try something?"

Mike has a pretty good idea of what Micky wants to try. "Of course Micky, what are friends for."

Micky smile gets even bigger and he drops to his knees. He's always wanted to do this. He just was never quite sure how to go about it. It's not like he could just go up to someone and see "Gee you know, I've always wanted to suck a dick. Mind if I try yours?"

"Oh Mike… you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."

Mike looks down and smiles back. "Micky, you have no idea how long I've wanted you to do this."

And then Micky is on him. Like white on rice. He doesn't really know what he's doing. He's only had experience with popsicles. Of course by now, he's a pro with popsicles but Mike's dick isn't a popsicle. It's not cold and it didn't taste like oranges or strawberries of grapes or blue.

But still, it has an interesting flavor. And it's _big_. _And_ it won't melt his mouth.

Micky is enjoying this experience but he feels a little out of his element. He worries about his performance. He can't have his confidence take a shit on him now. But suddenly he has an idea. He looks behind him and reaches up to the counter. He grabs a strawberry flavored Rocketpop out of the pile of popsicles he dropped on the counter.

Mike is looking at him in puzzlement. "Whatcha doing there, Mick?"

"You'll see." Micky says as he struggles to open the wrapper. He can't get a good grip on the plastic. He reluctantly takes off his black gloves.

He pulls the melting Rocketpop out and drizzles the juice on Mike's penis.

_There. That ought to do it. _He thinks after Mike's dick is fully coated. He smiles at his handiwork. Something familiar like popsicle juice is bound to put him at ease.

He takes Mike in his mouth again and immediately, his confidence is restored.

Mike begins groaning.

In turn, Dale begins whining.

"Quiet down Dale!" Mike scolds in a husky voice.

Dale whines again and then grows quiet. But she drops his head and covers her eyes with her paws.

Mike and Micky ignore her.

(_Poor Dale_)

As Micky gets going, using all the tricks he normally uses when he goes down on his popsicles, he suddenly feels Mike pull off his floppy hat and bury his hands in the wisps of hair Micky still has around his crown.

Mike's groans get louder and he begins to thrust into Micky's mouth.

_Well this is interesting_. Micky thinks. He's never had this kind of interaction before. Popsicles don't tend to interact. He thinks that maybe he likes it.

...

(-Alright, so I'm going to skip to the end here because, let's face it- do you guys really want me to go into detail about how Micky licks and flicks up and down Mike's shaft of how he sucks on Mike's slightly sagging balls or grabs handfuls of his wrinkly behind? If you do, I'm terribly sorry to disappoint. I just figure I've disturbed everyone enough by now.  
…but I'll throw in the happy ending- and I mean that literally and figuratively.)

So Micky's sucking Mike off. And now Mike is cumming. Mike's grip on Micky's wispy hair tightens and he lets out a howl.

_A howl?_

Yes, a howl. That's the only word for it.

He shoots his strawberry tinged wad into Micky's mouth.

Micky swallows.

Dale barks.

And that's that.

Micky gets up and they smile at each other and give each other a hug. Mike kisses him on the cheek and says. "Boy Micky that sure was wonderful."

Micky blushes. "Gee, thanks Mike."

"Maybe tomorrow you could wear that purple evening gown?"

"Purple evening gown? I didn't see that one."

"I find it for you." Mike winks.

The End.

(Fin)

PS… If anyone's interested I used the word popsicle or a variation of it 37 times in this story.  
_What _was I thinking?


End file.
